A/N: hello! I have returned at least briefly because I got a review on my six months outtakes and it made me want to write these angels again :) enjoy!

Prompt: Doing the dishes together has been a part of Henry and Elizabeth's routine for so long. Now that they're in the White House and they don't have to do that chore anymore, it feels like something is missing.

Elizabeth was lying on her bed, Henry at her side. It was the end of the day, and he was reading, and the scene was altogether very familiar. It could have been any night of any of the last three-plus decades, except for one thing.

Elizabeth was no longer a student, or working for the CIA, or a professor, or even the Secretary of State. These days, she was the leader of the free world, a mantle that rested more heavily on her shoulders than any she had previously held- except perhaps that of mom, which had been and remained a beast all its own.

Despite the many, many differences in the lives of the McCords lately, right then after a long and frustrating day, one in particular stood out to Elizabeth. She rolled over to face Henry, looking up at him from where her head rested in her hands, propped up on her elbows as he gazed down at her over his reading glasses.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked. Henry nodded and Elizabeth sighed.

"Do you ever think about the dishes?"

Henry hesitated, confusion passing over his face.

"What about them?" he inquired.

"Well," Elizabeth began, gesturing vaguely. "Someone else is doing them."

"Yeah, the kitchen staff, we met them-" Henry began.

"No, yeah, I know we did," Elizabeth replied, a touch of impatience creeping into her tone at the knowledge that Henry did not seem to be intuiting her vague point. "I mean- you know, we used to do our own dishes. You and me, together at night when the house was quiet."

Realization lit up Henry's eyes, to Elizabeth's relief. Her husband chuckled lightly, tugging at the frames of his glasses so that they came away from his face and rested in his lap against the cover of the obscure religious book he had been reading.

"Yes," he answered. "That, I think about a lot."

Elizabeth exhaled forcefully.

"I miss that," she divulged. "It was good for me- for us. And I feel like I'm missing something without it."

Henry looked at her thoughtfully, and then shrugged his shoulders.

"So let's go do them," he suggested. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, skepticism etched into her every feature.

"What?" she asked.

"Let's go do them," Henry repeated. He shrugged his shoulders again. "I miss it too."

Elizabeth thought about that for a moment, and Henry could see the wheels in her head turning before she cast her curious blue eyes on him.

"Are we allowed to do that?" she asked. Henry couldn't help but laugh.

"Babe," he said gently. "You're the President of the United States. Who's gonna stop you?"

Elizabeth stared at him for a second, and then a smile lit up her face.

"That's a damn good point, Henry McCord," she declared, already pushing herself up from the bed.

"Let's go," she urged. Henry grinned to himself, shaking his head as he stood to follow her.

By the time the President and First Gentleman finally reached the kitchen, they had explained themselves to far more Secret Service members than Elizabeth ever would have imagined would stand between herself and some dirty dishes. They all seemed completely perplexed by her explanation, save the few they encountered who had worked with Elizabeth for a long time. Those few just nodded, resigned to the fact that Elizabeth McCord was, always had been, and always would be the most unconventional person they would serve. Now, they faced the kitchen staff.

"Madam President."

Anyone could have heard the confusion and notes of fear in their voices, but Elizabeth waved them down.

"Hey, guys," she said. "I, uh- well, we," she amended, glancing at Henry. "We were wondering if we could take some of your dish duty tonight."

The staff before her, which had come to a collective stop at her entrance, exchanged uncertain glances at the unprecedented request.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but...why?"

Henry laughed, and Elizabeth couldn't help but chuckle along with him.

"Yeah, that's a fair question," she admitted. "Um, you know, Henry and I raised our family just the two of us," she explained. "We never had a nanny or a live-in or really any hired help. And just about every night of our thirty-some years of marriage, we did the dishes together. It grounded us, you know? Like when our kids were little and the house was finally quiet and we could spend some time there just the two of us talking and working together." She smiled at them and shrugged her shoulders. "It was our time, and uh...well, we miss it." There was a collective little laugh from the group she was addressing. "So, if you don't mind, we were hoping to get a little of that back tonight, what do you think?"

Many of the staff members nodded, and one stepped forward.

"I'll show you," she offered, and Elizabeth smiled.

"Thank you very much…" she trailed off, questioning.

"Marisa," she filled in. "And it's an honor, Madam President."

"Marisa," Elizabeth repeated with a nod. As she and Henry followed her, Henry leaned in to speak to the staff member.

"Thanks for giving me a chance to prove to my wife that I'm still better than her at this," he said.

"Watch it," Elizabeth warned, but she was smiling at him even as she spoke.

Shortly, their hands were buried in dishwater and the hum of activity around them had faded into the background as the two of them conversed quietly at the center of it all. Henry snuck a glance at her as she washed dishes, slow and careful and concentrated. He smiled slightly. It did him more good than he would have expected, seeing her like this again. It had been Elizabeth's idea, but as she recounted for him an earlier phone call with Will that she'd snuck in between official duties, he couldn't help but see her as the young vibrant girl he'd fallen in love with- his Elizabeth, who was so much more than the President of the United States.

"What?" Elizabeth asked, catching him in his dreamy reverie. He smiled, caught, and shook his head.

"Nothing," he answered. "Just thinking how much I needed this."

Elizabeth nodded, understanding him completely- as she always had. Henry, deciding to lighten the moment, reached over and flicked some soap bubbles onto her, which floated gently to rest on her head. He laughed at the sight, and she flicked him back, and then they were both laughing; as it turned out, some things never changed, even in the White House.